My Christmas tree is killing me
It’s hard to believe that just a week ago, my Christmas tree stood tall and proud in the corner of my living room, bringing me so much joy. Now, I find myself wishing this damn tree had never been brought into my home. What few pine needles remain on it are brown and its trunk is bent over, like an inflexible person reaching for their toes. My ornaments have scattered across the floor, but I don’t have the strength to pick them up. I've been feeling really sick these past few days, and it’s getting worse. Last week, I returned from work and found a post-it on my door: “Used your shower. Left you a gift. XOXOXO Mom.” My parents retired a few years ago and moved to a campground away from the city. It was nice and all, but they didn't have running water in the winter, so they occasionally stopped by to do laundry and to shower. When I opened the door, Rex, my Labrador, greeted me excitedly. I know, I know: it’s a really stereotypical name. In my defence, I got him when I was 9, and I was all about dinosaurs back then. I still am: I have an awesome T-Rex magnet on my fridge that isn't going anywhere. Rex was surprisingly spry for his old age, and I happily met his demands for attention. Running my hands over his soft black fur, I removed my coat and threw it in the general direction of the nearest hanger. Rex, tail wagging like a metronome on steroids, dragged me to the living room. I smiled as I saw the beautiful Christmas tree my parents had left me. Rex spread out under the tree on a white blanket that had been draped around it, and playfully nibbled at the bottom branches. The next day, I put on some holiday music and dug through boxes to find my ornaments. Rex thought he’d help me by pulling out random objects and hiding them around my house. There was a sweet scent in the air, like nutmeg mixed with candle wax. I had likely failed to close the lid on one of the Christmas candles. The clumped up sugar in my cupboard was proof of my lazy lid-closing ways. Rex was particularly fond of my new garlands, and helped me unravel them all over the living room floor. It took me fifteen minutes to undo all the knots. He loved watching me struggle. After finding a nice array of older ornaments from my childhood and newer ones I’d bought myself after moving out, I began decorating the tree. I remembered the year when I got Rex: he was sitting under the tree on Christmas Eve, wearing a big red bow. We’d been friends ever since. As I continued to hang ornaments, I spotted a few yellowing pine needles. I carefully plucked them off and tossed them in the garbage. Their absence did not take away from the tree’s splendor. After a while, I noticed Rex wasn't by my side any more. I looked around my house and found him curled up on his doggy bed, which was pretty unusual in and of itself. I’d only seen him sleep there twice since I’d bought the thing. Rex much preferred the foot of my bed. “All tuckered out, huh, boy?” I teased, scratching him behind the ear. He whined lowly and closed his eyes. I let him be, took a few moments to send my parents a thank-you email with a photo of the decked-out tree, and then started on supper. Before sitting down at the table, I opened a can of Rex’s favorite food and poured it in his bowl. I called for him, but he didn't come. He was probably exhausted from the decora-thon. I ate alone for the first time in years. The silence was deafening, but at least I could enjoy the view as I devoured my meal: my tree looked beautiful. I checked on Rex a few times that evening, but he was fast asleep. Lazy bum. My dad answered my email and told me they were cancelling our plans for supper the next day because they’d come down with the flu. I gave them strict instructions to get some rest, and then followed my own advice. I was starting to feel rather worn out myself. Over the course of the following days, I saw a steady decline in old Rex’s health. I was afraid it was ‘his time’. I dreaded it so much that it gave me nightmares. I could barely keep myself from tearing up at work. We’d been through so much together, Rex and I. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I came home one night to find a collection of yellow and brownish pin needles under the tree. It was starting to thin out, like the top of a middle-aged man’s head. I vacuumed the mess, feeling really guilty for being unable to keep the damn tree alive. It was a gift, after all. What would my parents say if they saw it in such a pitiful condition? I stopped in my tracks and realized I’d forgotten to greet Rex. I ran to his side and dropped to my knees. I didn't even have to touch him to know he was gone. My lips quivering and my eyes dripping, I gave him a final hug. “I'm sorry I wasn't here to say goodbye…” I murmured. I had to call a friend to take care of him. I couldn't do it myself. The next few days passed in a blur. I was so distraught that I called in sick from work. It wasn't a complete lie, since I felt like I had caught what was ailing my parents. I emailed my dad to tell him about Rex. He loved that dog almost as much as I did. He liked to kidnap him for week-long camping trips. He claimed we had shared custody of him. Though my parents’ laptops were typically at arm’s reach, I didn't get a reply. Dad was probably moping around the campfire and needed his space. I coped by turning into a complete hermit, leaving the house only once to take out the trash and overflowing recycling bin. I can’t remember why the recycling bin was so full…I don’t recall putting much stuff into it. Meanwhile, my Christmas tree continued to decay. I was too much of a wreck and too worn-down to bother taking it out to the dumpster. I let it rot slowly in my living room. Since yesterday, I've been getting these awful headaches, and my nose keeps bleeding. I spent most of my time lying in bed or sitting at my computer. I wish Rex was here. I wish my parents would reply to my emails. I'm so lonely. I called the friend who took care of Rex for me, but she couldn't stay on the phone very long: seems like I gave her my flu. I wish I wasn't looking at my pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree. It’s slouched over and there is not a single ornament left on it. Ugh, the screen’s getting all blurry, I'm probably going to go to bed soon. As I was typing this, I heard a faint hissing sound coming from the tree. I lethargically wheeled my chair over and leaned in to listen. It was like the sound of air escaping a tire, and it was coming from a tiny black tube sticking out of the trunk. That’s when I realized something: the tree had no scent. I should have been able to smell pine or rot or something. Anything. Then, I remembered why the recycling bin had been so full. My mind was distracted when I took it out, but it was coming back to me. There had been a large crumpled-up cardboard box with the picture of a tree on it. Artificial Christmas trees aren't supposed to die… Oh man, I'm starting to feel really dizzy…I'm going to go lie down for a while… Category:Nature Category:Christmas Category:Reddit Pastas Category:Objects